Page 69 of Hate That Blooms
“I think we’ll be okay,” she says after a moment. “You and me. And Mireya too. We’ll figure this out.”
And just like that, I realize that this isn’t just about me anymore. This is about us. This is about all three of us, whether or not we’re ready for it.
The soft clink of a fork on a plate pulls me from my thoughts as Mireya reaches for the pancakes I’ve just placed on her plate. I don’t think she’ll ever know how much I care about her. The fact that she trusts me to take care of her amazes me to no end. That she trusts me to make sure she’s fed, that she’s safe. I’ll always protect her, I’d give my life for this little girl.
I lean down and kiss the top of her head, and she looks up at me. “Quín el rey.”
That’s right, Princesa, Rey is finally home. Where he should be.
Chapter43
Gabriela
It’s kind of funny how fast life can change when you stop resisting things. When you stop trying to control every little detail and let the pieces fall where they may. Four weeks ago, Joaquín and I were just confessing our love for each other, figuring out what it meant to share a bed, to wake up in the mornings and see someone there—just the two of us. Now the three of us have settled into a routine. Not perfect, but comfortable.
It feels like we’re all finding our own rhythm, each of us moving around the others, adjusting, and learning.
I’m still not used to him being here most nights, but it’s starting to feel less like a surprise and more like an expectation. Not in a bad way—never in a bad way—but it’s different from what I imagined it would be. Different from how I thought it would feel.
Joaquín has his own place, a small one-bedroom apartment that’s about ten minutes away. I know because we’ve been there a couple of times. It’s nice—nothing special—but I guess that’s how he likes it. Clean, simple. But somehow, no matter how many times he goes back there, he always ends up here. More often than not, he stays the night with Mireya and me. I catch myself glancing over at his pile of clothes on the chair, the way his toothbrush rests next to mine on the bathroom counter, the jacket he leaves slung over the back of the couch. I’m not sure when it happened exactly, but his things are starting to become just as much a part of this home as mine.
And Mireya notices it too.
It’s not like she says anything about it, but I can see it in the way she acts. I can tell when she’s aware that something’sdifferent. When she notices Joaquín isn’t around. Her little face falls just slightly, her brows furrowing as she scans the room, her gaze lingering on empty spaces where she expects him to be. I try not to make a big deal out of it, but I can see her processing it.
Today is one of those mornings. He’s gone back to his place for a few hours to take care of a few things—he does that now and then, especially on days where he works longer shifts. Joaquín quit his job with the city and moved out of his dad’s house. He got hired at the power company and sometimes he can be up at all hours. So I don’t think when he stays at his apartment, it’s so he can get away from us, but maybe sometimes he doesn’t want to burden us by coming home so late. I try to check in with him regularly to make sure this isn’t moving too fast. He swears it isn’t, then jokes that it isn’t fast enough to make up for the time we’ve lost together.
Mireya doesn’t understand, though. And that’s where things get tough.
* * *
Mireya’s sitting at the kitchen table when I make it over with my coffee, her small hands wrapped around her bowl of cereal. Her eyes are fixed on the door, like she’s waiting for something. Or someone. She doesn’t say anything but I’ve learned to read the yearning in her face. And right now, she’s waiting for Joaquín to walk through that door.
I set my mug down and sit next to her at the table, watching as she takes another spoonful of cereal, but her gaze doesn’t leave the door.
“You miss him, don’t you?” I ask softly, leaning over to adjust her shirt sleeve where it’s bunched up.
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t answer. But I know. I know exactly what she’s feeling.
It’s not that I haven’t seen this before. I’ve seen Mireya miss people—her aide, our mother, even me sometimes when I’ve had to leave her for work. But this is different. This is... somehow deeper. This is about Joaquín.
She’s not used to him being gone. And I think it bothers her more than she’s letting on.
I take a deep breath, then pick up my mug again, feeling the warmth seep into my hands. I have to admit it—there’s something comforting about having him here, about him being a part of this. And I think Mireya feels that too.
I catch myself staring at the clock on the wall—the minutes ticking away. It’s almost ten, and Joaquín should be back soon. But something inside me stirs. I’ve been thinking about this for a few days now, wondering if I should say something or if I should wait until the time feels right. The thing is, I don’t even know what “right” feels like anymore.
But I do know this: he’s here. He’s here more than he isn’t, and maybe that’s all that matters.
I glance over at Mireya again, who’s still sitting in the same position, waiting.
“Hey,mijita,” I say, making sure to keep my tone light and casual. “Do you want to help me make dinner later? Maybe you and I can make something special for when Joaquín gets home.”
She blinks at me, her fingers tapping lightly against her bowl. Then, as if on cue, she looks over at the door again.
“He’ll be back later tonight,” I say softly, not sure if she’s even hearing me but needing to say it anyway. “I promise he is coming back.”
She nods once, a brief movement of her head, but doesn’t say anything else. I leave it at that, taking a seat across from her, watching the light play across her face as the sun filters through the window. I wonder how she’s going to handle this. How long will it take before she accepts that he’s not just passing through, not just a guest? He’s part of our lives now.
